InkStained Fingers
by FreeCheshire
Summary: An epic adventure begins! This is the story of Bookie and Honey: Two drastically different girls living in a world ruled by men (and boys. x.x) Can a novice author and a budding starlet survive in a world run by the papers, surrounded by newsies?
1. Going Home

Ink-Stained Fingers 

Disclaimer: As ever, most of these characters don't belong to me. They belong to Disney and the wonderful person with the original idea for the musical, _Newsies_. (I _wish_ they belonged to me! BWAHAHA! MINE, ALL MINE! ^,^)

Chapter One: Going Home 

- - - - -

            "Yo, Lucky." The small redhead looked up at the sound of his name. Spot Conlan stood above him, tapping the end of his cane on one of the many crates on the harbor dock. "Yah muthah was lookin' fo' yah up in Manhattan again."

            The younger boy's eyes shone with defiance. "I ain't goin' back," he declared.

            A short, scrawny girl stepped from behind a crate, leather bound ledger in hand. "Why don't ya just go home, Patrick?"

            Lucky scowled at the girl. "My name ain't Patrick no more. It's _Lucky_."

            She thumped him on the head with her ledger. "Your muthah misses ya, so just go home."

            "Why don't _you_ go home, ey?" Lucky stood and took a challenging step towards the girl. "Why's _you_ so high an' mighty so's you can tell me what ta do?"

            "Her name's Bookie, an' she's me secretary," Spot interjected. Then he pointed the gold tip of his came at Lucky. "An you bettah be nice, kid, or I'll soak ya."

            "Look, Patrick, you don't know how lucky you are." Bookie took a step towards the boy, closing the short distance between them. Although she was almost twice his age, they were almost the same height, and he regarded her skeptically as she brushed a lock of mousy brown hair back from her face.

            "Yeah? An' how'm I so 'lucky'?" he challenged.

            "'Cuz your muthah _misses_ you. 'Round here, most of us ain't got parents at all, let alone ones who miss us. You know what your muthah says while she's out lookin' for ya?"

            A look of curiosity invaded Lucky's scowling features. "What's she say?"

            "'_Patrick, darling, since you left me I am undone. Mother loves you. God save my son._' To _every_ kid she sees. She wanders around like a ghost, reachin' for every newsie in Manhattan that looks the least bit like you from behind, hopin' one of 'em is you."

            Lucky dashed a sleeve across his eyes. The older girl laid a pale, ink-stained hand on the eight-year-old's shoulder. "Go _home_." The boy nodded, scooped up the stones he'd been using as marbles, and headed homeward.

            "That was nice o' ya, Bookie." The girl turned to face Brooklyn's formidable leader and was pleased to see his rare smile beaming back at her.

            "Little 'uns like that shouldn't be out on the streets." _Although I was on **my** own when I was even younger than him_, she added silently to herself.

            "Yeh, well, I would'a soaked the shrimp an' sent him home cryin' to his muthah. You was all gentle wid him." The tough-guy look was back on Spot's face and Bookie laughed.

            "Oh, Spot! You're such a softie!" Bookie sidestepped Spot's swinging fist.

            "Who ya callin' a softie?!" Spot aimed a blow at her head and she had to duck to avoid the brass tip of his cane. "I'm the kind o' Brooklyn. Hell, I _am_ Brooklyn!"

            "I can see the headline now: 'SPOT SAVES SOULS OF BROOKLYN BABES!'" Bookie dodged another punch. "I'm gonna go write the article up right now!"

            She disappeared into the labyrinth of crates, leaving Spot shaking his cane after her.

- - - - -

            "_My lovey-dovey baby, I boo-hoo-hoo for you. I used to be your tootsie-wootsie, then you said toodly-doo_." Honey pouted prettily at herself in the tarnished old mirror.

            "You're gettin' better at that, doll, but you're still too cute to pull it of." The young blonde whirled to face her patron.

            "Medda! You startled me!" Honey nervously smoothed the full-length pink gown she was wearing. She was very conscious of Medda and how beautiful she looked in her slinky red-sequined gown, with her black boa and her hair pinned in a tumble of curls atop her head. Self-consciously Honey combed slender fingers through her own golden locks before beginning to braid her hair into its customary double plaits.

            Medda bustled around the small dressing room, pushing small mountains of clothing aside. "Have you seen the blue Heidi dress? I need you to sing 'Mountain Lullaby' during intermission tonight." Honey froze, hair twined around her fingers, and stared at Medda as the woman practically dove head-first into a rusty old costume trunk. "Oh, and Kelly should be here later and it'd be nice if you had some cookies made. He's bringing that cute kid - what's his name? Les? - he's bringing Les by."

            The older woman finally surfaced, a badly wrinkled sky blue dress with an attached white apron in her arms. "Why is he bringing Les?" Honey asked, resuming braiding her hair with shaking hands. Medda had never asked her to sing on stage before. Sure, she'd danced in a couple of chorus lines and sung in a couple of the choirs, but a _solo_?

            "He's to sweeten up the audience during the 'I Bid Thee Adieu' number. I thought it'd be cute to have him wearing that little sailor suit. He could hold that wooden boat Fleck carved for us." Medda continued shifting costumes around, head craning to see better into the trunk. "Where _is_ that sailor costume?"

            "I think I saw it in one of the boxes of 'costumes-to-be-remade-into-something-usable' box just off stage left," Honey told the older woman. She smiled as Medda bustled out of the room without another word, then tied the end of her finished braid with a bit of twine once used to hold newspapers together.

            Cradling the other piece of twine in her hand, Honey fondly remembered the day Crutchy gave it to her. 

            "Your hair's too pretty ta be tyin' it with string, Honey." The girl looked up at the sound of Crutchy's prepubescent voice. "I brought ya this."

            Honey considered the offering the lame boy held out for her. He'd taken a bit of twine - probably snitched from Weasel, she'd thought at the time - and wrapped ivy around it for a truly beautiful effect. She took it, fingers brushing his hand as she did so, and replaced the thread binding her braids with his beautiful gift.

            The ivy had died long ago, but Honey still always used the bit of twine to tie up her hair. She did up her other braid and tied it off, then settled back into her chair with a sigh. She was just considering getting up and making cookies - either peanut butter or sugar - when a knock sounded outside the dressing room door and a head of mousy brown hair poked around the frame.

- - - - -

(A/N: Yeah, I apologize profusely for my crappiness. X.x;; I'm trying my best, really I am! I'm just tapped out on creativity today 'cuz I wrote a 3-page letter to Gabriel Damon. **Gabe's a babe; Spot is hot!**

Shout outs:

Heather - thanks so much for reading the first draft in all its crappiness and helping me clear up the whole Lucky/Patrick confusion a bit. You're a doll.

Brenna - ^,^ There! I finished the chapter just 'cause you told me to! Doesn't that make you feel **special**?

Please review! ^,^ (Lookit me, I'm turning into as much of a review whore as Ari! X.x;;)    


	2. And all because of me

Ink-Stained Fingers 

Disclaimer: As ever, most of these characters don't belong to me. They belong to Disney and the wonderful person with the original idea for the musical, _Newsies_. (I _wish_ they belonged to me! BWAHAHA! MINE, ALL MINE! ^,^)

Chapter Two: "And all because of me." 

- - - - -

            "Are you Dallas?" the brunette asked timidly. Honey smiled politely at the stranger.

            "No, I'm Honey. Dallas is only here Wednesday through Saturday. Maybe I can help you?"

            "The name's Bookie, Spot Conlan's secretary." Bookie's eyes darted nervously around the room, taking in the sights of costumes both flashy and tattered. "Spot sent me to pay Dallas for her… services… last night."

            Honey blushed faintly. "I can give her the money for you, if you'd like. She usually stops by on Sunday nights, so she'd get it tonight. Unless you'd prefer to wait and deliver it yourself." A look of profound curiosity crossed the blonde's face. "Does he… pay _you_ for… 'services'?"

            "Yeh, I-" It suddenly occurred to Bookie what she meant by _services_. "No!" She blushed bright red right to the roots of her hair. "No! I'm his secretary… friend… but… NO!" Honey laughed at the sight of the scrawny girl's ears turning red. She sobered, though, when Bookie's face fell and a shadow crept into her eyes. "Spot wouldn't ever think of me that way."

            Honey stood and laid a hand on Bookie's arm. "If you don't have a lot to do today, you're welcome to wait here for Dallas." She grinned as Bookie looked uncertainly behind her. Taking Bookie's hand, she said, "Come on. I've got a lot of work to do and I could really use some help. I'll even pay you!"

            Bookie looked at Honey, startled. _I could actually make some money of my own?_ So far in life, Bookie had always depended on the charity of others to help her along. In exchange for running favors for Spot and occasionally keeping tabs on some of his and the other newsies' wagers, she was allowed to stay in a small room of her own (a closet is all it really was, but Bookie liked to think of it as a kind of apartment) in the lodging house. The prospect of doing anything to make her less dependant on the charity of the newsies cheered her, and she readily accepted.

            Honey led Bookie up a narrow staircase, into the more home-like upper-level of Medda's place. The blonde changed into work clothes, and together they mixed the dough for sugar cookies. Honey's cheerful chatter soon drew Bookie out of her shyness of strangers, and the girls took delight in the fact that they were the same age.

            "You're 16?" Honey stared at her new friend, mouth hanging slightly open. She drew herself up to her own full five feet and five inches. "You're awfully short for your age. Oh! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that."

            "It's OK, I know I'm short. Me mum was short too." Bookie grinned at Honey to show she harbored no hurt feeling. Then she braced her hands on her hip and stood as straight as she could, still barely breaking five feet. "Besides, I may be short an' scrawny, but I'm real strong!"

            While the dough cooled in the icebox, they began to give Medda's apartment a thorough cleaning. Bookie took care of all the dirty jobs Honey was reluctant to do, like cleaning the small but filthy windows and sweeping and scrubbing the much-neglected fireplace. Bookie didn't even seem to notice the dust in her hair or the soot smudged over her skin that only accentuated her paleness. To Honey's surprise, Bookie really _was_ as strong as she claimed to me, which she proved by climbing the front of Medda's old oak bookcase, a box of books tucked under one arm. Honey was also surprised to find, after she came back from putting the cookies in the oven, that Bookie had alphabetized Medda's sparse collection of books.

            She found the girl tucked away in the far corner of the room under the window, head bent over a copy of Sophocles' _Antigone_. Honey crept closer, planning on scaring Bookie, and discovered the girl was fast asleep. She smiled and gently removed the book from Bookie's hands, then went downstairs to organize the dressing room.

- - - - -

            "Hey, doll. Where's Medda?" Honey looked up from the rusty old costume trunk and grinned at the leader of the Manhattan newsies.

            "Hello, Jack. Medda's doing a run-through on stage." Honey craned her neck to see around the boy. "…Didn't you bring Les?"

            "Yeh, he's outside wid his bruddah. They's trying to sell a few last papes." Just as Jack finished speaking, David and Les appeared behind him.

            Honey grinned. "Great! Hello there, Les. How're you doing today? Are you excited about being on stage?" Honey asked as she circled Les. _That sailor costume isn't going to be big enough for him_, she thought, noticing the length of the small boy's legs. _We're going to have to let it out a bit._

            "I'm great! Who're you?"

            Honey and the older newsies laughed at Les' straightforwardness. "This here's Honey," Jack told the boy. "She's kinda Medda's assistant. Her secretary, like."

            At the word "secretary," Honey's head snapped up from her inspection of Les. _Oh, no!,_ she thought. _I forgot about Bookie!_ She smiled at the boys, nervously tugging at the end of one of her braids. "I need to adjust Les' costume a little, and I could really use someone to move a couple of boxes around in here. Will one of you help me?"

            "I'm at yah soivice, milady," Jack said, bowing. Honey laughed.

            "Wonderful. In that case, David, will you do me a favor?" She waited until the tall, brunette boy nodded before continuing. "Would you please just run up to Medda's apartment and wake Bookie? She fell asleep and I forgot to wake her. And ask her to bring the cookies down." She grinned at Les, who's face lit up at the mention of cookies.

            "Sure, Honey. But… who's Bookie?" David asked, setting a firm hand on Les' shoulder. The younger boy had turned around, looking for stairs, eager for the much-sought-after cookies.

            "Oh, you haven't met her?" Honey looked faintly surprised. _But surely the two most important newsies in Manhattan have met Spot's secretary? They go over to Brooklyn enough… Oh well._ "She's 'Spot's secretary,' as she says. Be careful with her though, I think she's kind of shy." Honey smiled as she pointed out the shadowed staircase to David. "The stairs are over there." David nodded and headed for the staircase.

            "I didn't know ol' Spot had a secretary. He's sure livin' the fancy life, ain't he?" David heard Jack's comment to Honey as he ascended the staircase, but Honey's reply was to soft for him to hear. He pushed open the heavy door that marked the end of the stairway and the beginning of Medda's living quarters and looked around.

            He spotted what he _thought_ was a human being huddled in the far corner of the room under one of the few windows. Tip-toeing closer, he saw that the shape was, in fact, a girl. She was filthy with dust and soot, and had fallen asleep directly after a vigorous house-cleaning he judged by the mess of rags thrown in a pile next to her. He took in her slight form, guessing her to be about Les' age. A pale hand rested on a book bound in rotting cardboard, and he knelt next to her to see its title. Smiling, he touched her shoulder gently.

            Her eyes flew open and she lurched backward, banging her head on the windowsill. David put his hands up to show he meant to harm.

            "Hi, Bookie. It's ok, really. My name's David, Honey sent me up here to wake you up." Bookie's eyes flew frantically around the room, looking for an escape, but she froze as David picked up the book she'd been reading.

            "_Antigone_?" David looked at her, meeting her frightened gaze. He grinned. "Did ya finish it? Or did ya fall asleep in the middle?"

            When Bookie spoke, her voice was faint, barely above a whisper. "I must've fallen asleep… But I've read it before." _She still looks scared to death_, David thought, _but at least she's talking to me. I wonder why Honey used the word "shy." I woulda said sumthin' more like, "terrified of people."_

            "I think it's funny how she hangs herself by her underwear at the end," David said, standing and moving towards the bookshelf.

            "Really? I think it's tragic." David looked at the girl, startled, expecting neither the contradiction nor her firm tone of voice. "It's sad, heart-wrenching really. I mean, the woman felt she was going to die anyway, it was inevitable, so she decided to take the matters into her own hands. If she had to die, she thought, it would be by her _own_ hand, and not because some bloody _man_ willed it." She removed the book from where he'd put it on the case and moved it down a shelf and to the right. "And this goes here."

            David stared at her, struck speechless by her transformation. It was then he noticed that her hair wasn't black but brown under the soot and dirt. Her skin was pale, but dotted with freckles, and her eyes blazed a startling green. She shrunk back, noticing his speculation. "What?" Once again she looked defensive, scared.

            "…How old are you?" David asked, taking a step towards her. He looked down at her. _She's not any taller than Les._

            "I'm 16, for your information," she said, bristling. She slipped out of the corner he'd backed her into, and David was rather surprised at her dexterity. "Now, may I inquire as to who _exactly_ you are, Mr. David?"

            David shook his head, still trying to process this new information. _There's no way she can be the same age as me! She's **tiny**._ He looked at Bookie appraisingly. _And she doesn't sound like a newsie at all when she talks like that. And where did she get a copy of _Antigone_ on the streets?_ Only then did it occur to him that, perhaps, Bookie wasn't a newsie or a "street rat" at all. He realized he didn't really know _anything_ about the girl.

            She interrupted his thoughts by picking up the plate of cookies on the counter. "Or don't tell me."

            "I'm sorry," he laughed. "I guess I got lost in my head. I'm David."

            "Yeah, I got that part," Bookie smiled wryly. "That's your _name_, but who _are_ you?"

            "Oh…" David hesitated, trying to think of what to say. He'd thought the newsies strike had spread his name all over… _Wasn't she in Brooklyn that day?,_ he wondered. "I guess I'm kinda Jack Kelly's second-in-command. … Les is my little brother. He's here to be a kinda prop, I guess, for Medda tonight."

            "…Is Jack here?" Bookie asked, eyes lighting up.

            "Yeah…" For some reason beyond David's comprehension, something cold and hard settled in his chest at the light in Bookie's eyes at the mention of Jack's name. He turned to follow her down the darkened stairwell, wondering what on earth was wrong with him.

- - - - -

(A/N: There! Chapter two, all done for ya! …Wow, this did not go at all how I expected it! The second half kinda decided it didn't want to br written as planned. This is just peachy, I have little to no idea where this is going. DARN YOU, BOOKIE, AND YOUR WILLFULLNESS!!! .

Just a word: The title is a quote from Sophocles' Antigone.

Special thanks to:

Nym, my anony-moose gremlin, who promises to keep reviewing. This update is just for her. ^,^

Ari, who is my partner-in-crime. Doll, I demand that I kidnap you and we have a Newsies marathon over Spring Break! .

Snyder's of Handover snack company, without whom I wouldn't've had my Honey Mustard & Onion pretzel nibblers, and this fic would have never gotten finished. ^,~)


	3. Echoes of the Past

Ink-Stained Fingers (Discaimer: As ever, most of these characters don't belong to me. They belong to Disney and the wonderful person with the original idea for the musical, _Newsies_. (I _wish_ they belonged to me! BWAHAHA! MINE, ALL MINE! ,) Chapter Three: Echoes of the Past ----- Bookie flew down the stairs and into Jack's arms. The box he'd been carrying slammed to the floor, brightly colored fabric spilling out of the open top. "Jack!" Jack, bewildered, held the small girl at arm's length to get a better look at her. "_Anna?_" "God, Jack, it's been so _long_!" Bookie dove back into Jack's arms, hugging him tightly around the waist. He wrapped his arms protectively around her, not minding the soot that got all over his clothes. "Anna?" Jack smoothed Bookie's hair with one hand, the other holding her in a tight embrace. "Where ya been?" "I been around," she said, her voice muffled by his clothing. "But Anna…" Bookie pulled away from Jack, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm Bookie now, Jack. Anna's dead." Jack reached to bookie, closing a hand around her wrist. "What-" Jack was interrupted by the appearance of a busty redhead. "Hey, y'all!" Dallas said brightly, not noticing the drama unfolding in the room. "Honey, I'm here ta pick up my pay." "Are you Dallas?" Bookie asked the woman, pulling away from Jack. "Yeah, darlin', I sure am. What can I do ya for?" Bookie pressed coins into Dallas' hand. "This's from Spot for last night. He thanks you." Bookie turned back to Honey. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Honey. It was so nice meeting you, but I should be going now." Honey wasn't the only one to notice Bookie's sudden figeting. The small girl's eyes were darting frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at Jack, and she kept pressing her wrists together and wringing her hands. "Won't you stay for the show, at least?" Honey asked, reaching for Bookie and touching a hand to her arm. Bookie flinched at the contact, but managed a smile for her new friend. "I should go, Spot'll worry." That statement bugged Jack, and he opened his mouth to ask what the hell _that_ meant, but Honey cut him off. "OK. I hope you'll come by and visit sometime soon. Medda's supposed to get a shipment of plays in on Tuesday, maybe you'd like to see them. This time Bookie's smile was genuine. "I'll see what I can do." She waved briefly over her shoulder at them all as she headed for the door. "Bye! Nice seein' ya again, Jack!" The moment she was gone, David and Honey turned to Jack. "What a weird girl," Les said loudly, biting into his sixth cookie. Honey shot Jack a look that clearly told him not to say anything about Bookie in front of Les and Dallas, then left the room, Dallas trailing behind her. David removed the plate of cookies, not greatly diminished, from Les' reach, and Jack set the sailor hat on the boy's head, for once not grinning and making jokes. Honey came back and bustled Dallas and Les off to the stage to consult Medda about Les' costume. Once they were gone, Honey turned to Jack. "Time for explanations, I think." Jack sunk down on the faded red velour loveseat, shaking his head. "Tell me whatcha know, Hon." Honey settled herself in the chair in front of the chipped vanity, and David leaned back against the wall. "She came in this morning," Honey began, "to deliver payment to Dallas, one of Spot's whores. She didn't say much about herself, just that she's 16 and that her mother was short. And that she's Spot's 'secretary and friend.'" "That bastahd bettah not be sleepin' with her!" Jack said fiercely, banging his fist on the arm of the loveseat. David blushed at the thought of the fragile, opinionated girl he'd met with Spot Conlan. "She said…" All attention was turned to Honey, who was squinting her big blue eyes in an effort to remember Bookies exact words. "She said something like, 'Spot wouldn't ever think of me that way.' And she seemed really… I don't know, _sad_ isn't the right word, but it's close… when she said it." Jack punched the furniture again. "Oh, so she ain't good enough for that hoity-toity bastahd?! I'll show him!" "Calm _down_, Jack!" Honey threw a pillow at the boy. "Tell us what _you_ know now." "Me'n Anna, we was friends when we was little. Friends since before we was born, really." Jack propped his chin in his hands, leaning forward, his eyes glazed over with memory. "I used ta throw mud at her when she was little. The day she threw it back was the day I proposed." Jack laughed, leaning back. "I remembah, I was five and a real tough guy, mean, ya know? I rubbed mud in her hair, and she growled at me, real mean like, and made me eat that mud. All spitfire, that girl. That was when we decided we was gonna get married when we grew up." "So what happened?" David asked, shifting positions. The thought of Bookie and Jack together wasn't any more comforting than thinking of her with Spot. Jack's face fell. "When she was five, her family moved away. I heard latah that her dad killed her muddah. Beat her ta death." Jack stood and started pacing. "So you don't know what happened after that?" Honey asked gently, following Jack's movement with her eyes. Jack shook his head violently, his jaw tense. "But it's been eleven _years_!" cried David. "Why didn't she contact you? Where has she _been_?" "I don't know. Somethin' must'a happened." Jack stopped, looking out the doorway. "But I know how we can find out." 

-----

"What is it, Jacky-Boy? Why'd you call me out heah?"

Spot settled on an empty crate, tapping his cane against his boot. Jack and David were already in the abandoned warehouse, David sitting on a crate and Jack pacing

"Tell me about this secretary of yours, Spot." Spot stood, bristling at Jack's tone.

"You tellin' me what ta _do_, Jacky-Boy?"

Jack strode over the where the shorter boy stood, getting right up in his face. "Maybe I am, Spot. You wanna find out?"

David broke in, stepping between the two newsies leaders. "Hey, fellahs, let's stay calm here."

Spot and Jack broke apart angrily. Spot sat back down on the crate and lifted his chin at Jack. "Speak, Boy."

Jack took a threatening step towards the Brooklyn newsie, but David held him back.

"You bring the Mouth with you _everywhere_, Jacky?" Spot taunted. Jack broke away from his friend, stalking the room angrily.

"We just wanna know about Bookie, that's all," David said calmly.

"That girl's had enough trouble in her life without youse guys meddlin'." Spot stood, pointing the tip of his cane at Jack. "You stay away from her."

"You ain't got _no right_ to tell me what to do, Spot Conlan!" Jack yelled, kicking a crate, caving in its side.

"When it comes ta Bookie, actually, I do," Spot said calmly, seemingly giving his full attention to a scuff on the brass tip of his cane. "She's under me protection, and ain't nobody gonna get neah her that's gonna hurt her."

Jack sat down on a crate, hard. "I just wanna know where she's been for eleven years," Jack said, putting his head in his hands.

Spot was startled by Jack's ragged voice. _Is he gonna cry?_, Spot thought, staring intently at the leader of the Manhattan newsies. In all the time Spot had known Jack, he'd never seen the other boy cry or so much as show a sign of weakness.

"What d'ya mean 'where she's been for eleven yeahs?'" Spot asked, never dropping his façade of nonchalance.

"Jack and Bookie were friends when they were little," David explained. "She moved when Jack was six and she was five, and he hasn't seen her since. She showed up at Medda's place yesterday – running an errand for you, she said – and disappeared when Jack called her 'Anna.'"

"Interestin'…" Spot tapped the tip of his cane on his chin, considering the new information. "All right, here's what I heard…"

------

(Author's Note: END CHAPTER THREE! OH! OH, I'M SO MEAN! , BWAHAHA!  
Shout outs:  
Thanks to my catears, which made my creative juices feel all JUICY.)


	4. Patience is a Virtue

Ink-Stained Fingers

(Discaimer: As ever, most of these characters don't belong to me. They belong to Disney and the wonderful person with the original idea for the musical, Newsies. (I wish they belonged to me! BWAHAHA! MINE, ALL MINE! ,)

Chapter Four: Patience is a Virtue

-----  
  
"A while back," Spot began, settling himself back against a crate, "a newsie by da name o' Odds was out walkin' at night. Said he wanted to 'look at da stars.' Well, he wasn't right in da head, so nobody took no notice of him. Anyway, he came back wid dis girl in his arms-"

"Wait, how long ago is 'a while back'?" Jack cut in impatiently. Spot glowered at him.

"About eight years, now will ya shuddup?" Spot waited for Jack to settle. "Anyway, Odds came back wid dis girl in his arms. She was a real nuthin', too. Skin and bones. He tried to take her back to one o' da rooms in da lodgin' house, but Rage stopped him. So he-"

"Wait, who's Rage?" Spot glared at Jack again until he shut his mouth.

"Will ya let me tell da story? Rage was da head newsie in Brooklyn then. Dis was maybe two yeahs before I worked my way to da top. Odds came in with dis little girl cradled in his arms, and Rage went nuts. He wasn't havin' no girls in the lodging house, leastways none that wasn't whores. He said if she wanted ta stay she'd hafta 'pay her way.' Odds got real mad at Rage, sayin' dat he didn't wanna be around someone who didn't treat women wid no respect, and he left. Dunno wheah he went, but he musta found somewheah ta stay. He kept sellin' papes, and nobody saw the girl again for a coupla months.

"I talked to Odds a while aftah he moved outta the lodgin' house, asked him what was up wid da girl. He told me he found her in an alley right on da border of Five Points." Spot shot a warning look at Jack, who was just opening his mouth to interrupt. "She was beat up pretty bad when he found her, from bruises to a broken arm. Said he asked her what her name was and wheah she was from, but she didn't say nothin'. Just laid there behind dis broken cart, not sayin' nothin' and hardly breathin'. Odds said it was real creepy, 'cuz her face was white as death, and the only color was from a black eye and her bloody lip. Said he didn't think she was alive at first, until she blinked.

"He took her home wid him, and when Rage kicked 'em out he went to a 'safe place,' he said. He wouldn't tell me wheah it was. I think he was afraid Rage was mad at him for leavin'. He was right, Rage was mad. He got mad an' then he got cocky, so I decided I was sick of his damn face. That's when I started movin' for his place." Spot settled back, apparently finished with his story.

After a slight pause, Jack punched his fist through the crate he was sitting on. "And that's it?! That's where the story ends?"

"No, I just need a little break from all dis talkin'." Spot tapped the tip of his cane on his boot, looking the two boys over.  
  
-----  
  
Running. An endless alleyway. She was running as fast as she could, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Her head snapped back as someone yanked on her hair, and she crashed to a halt. A heavy hand closed around her throat, squeezing… Vision faded to black, stars sparkling at the edges of her sight. A throaty chuckle grated in her ears as a ham-like, scarred face flooded what was left of her field of vision…

Bookie awoke with a start, shooting bolt upright and gasping for air. She looked around her with wild, panicked eyes… And then realized where she was. It was only a dream, she scolded herself, fighting her way free of the nest of blankets that served her as a bed. She peeled of her sweat-soaked nightgown, knuckles brushing the ceiling of her tiny room. A closet, really, the room had been granted her by Spot just under six years ago. Since then, Bookie had filled her small space with her own belongings, making the place she fondly referred to as "the Cave" cozy and homelike. A rickety bookshelf stood in one corner, loaded with old newspapers, notebooks, a broken toy from when she was little, and the few precious books she'd managed to obtain. Her "nest," consisting of all the spare pillows and blankets she could find, took up fully half of the space of her tiny room.

Slipping into a white shirt and grey pinstriped pants, Bookie listened for sounds of the other, more official residents of the Brooklyn Lodging House. She didn't hear Odds moving around in the next room and decided she was either up very early or very late. Deftly she maneuvered into her black boots while buttoning the vest that almost matched her pants, trying to dress with both silence and speed. Dumping her grey pinstriped cap on her head, she snatched up one of the notebooks and stepped carefully around her blankets to the door.

Carefully, now going for stealth over haste, she unlocked each of the six locks on her door. She winced slightly as the tumblers clicked, hoping she wasn't disturbing anyone. She opened the door a crack and peered out… then swung the door fully open, sighing.

Once again, she'd overslept the boys. Sunlight flooded in through the hall windows, illuminating her mousy brown hair and making it appear almost reddish in the brightness. She stepped lightly over to one of the windows, resting a hand on the sill as she stared out. The view from the grimy window wasn't a particularly spectacular one, but Bookie enjoyed it. It looked out onto the street in front of the House, where boys were pushing each other playfully, playing games, or preparing for work.

Taking a deep breath, Bookie strode purposefully down the hall and out the front door. She smiled as the noise of the boys' bustle hit her, reveling in the signs of life. Turning right onto the street, she waved to a few of Brooklyn's newsies as she passed them. At the corner she paused, notebook clutched in her arms, looking around her. Where do I want to go today? She briefly considered seeking out Odds, or even Spot, for company, then decided she'd rather be alone to think. Seeing Jack again after so many years had stirred up so many forgotten emotions in her, she needed to be alone somewhere to reflect... and maybe get some writing done.

She turned left, a sense of purpose in her stride. She'd go to the abandoned warehouse. It was usually quiet there, and she could have some peace and quiet to think.  
  
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"…Have ya had enough of a break yet, Spot?" Jack asked impatiently, cracking his knuckles. All this drama was making him nervous: first with Anna - or Bookie - showing up out of the blue, now with Spot being overdramatic. Spot, always with a flair for theatrics, cocked his head, pursed his lips, and appeared to consider Jack deeply. To David, it almost seemed as if he was… posing?

"All right, all right, hold yoah horses." Spot gave Jack an appraising look, rubbing the side of his nose with the pad of his thumb. He was wondering just what, exactly, Jack's relationship with Bookie was. …And was the Mouth was a key player in this drama too, or just another of Jack's pawns? He was also trying to decide exactly how much to tell them. He knew a lot about what Bookie had been though, as she'd told him herself. A part of him - the part that loved the attention he was getting - wanted to show off exactly how much he knew, but another part… A part of him knew that Bookie was someone who didn't trust others easily. In fact, he knew for a fact that the only people she'd spoken to openly about the things that happened in her years on the streets of Five Points were him and Odds. Another long look at Jack and a quick glance at David decided him. He'd tell them the more public version of the story; the version the newsies who were acquaintances and friends with Bookie knew.

"So Books lived on da streets of Five Points for three yeahs," Spot began, "which is enough tah rough up any kid. She was 'bout eight when Odds found her. She hid out wid Odds for about two yeahs, and for da last six she's been livin' in da Brooklyn Lodgin' House.

"In return for her room an' my excellent protectin', she runs me errands and keeps me books. An' you'll leave her alone if ya know what's good for ya, Jacky-Boy."

Jack ignored Spot's last comment and started pacing again. "So what's her relationship with Honey? How do they know each other?" Jack wondered aloud.

"Tha's a easy one, Jacky." Spot smirked up at the manhattan boy. "Bookie likes booksl that babyface at Medda's has 'em in spades. Make da connection."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Davey, what was it day Honey said? Somethin' about a... a shipment tomorrow."

"Medda's getting in some plays. Books of plays." David looked confused. "So?"

"So, that means..." Jack snapped his fingers impatiently, trying to think. "That means... Anna - um, Bookie - will be theah, right? Since she likes books so much an' all. So... if we go theah tomorrow, we can get ahold a' Bookie an' she can tell me what's goin' on."

Spot stood and took a menacing step towards Jack. "I told ya ta leave her alone, Jack. If ya so much as-"

Spot's head whipped around at the sound of the warehouse door opening. All three boys ducked behind crates and held their breath as the door creaked shut and light footsteps echoed through the huge room.

_Why'm I hidin'?_ thought Spot. _This is my turf! _He rose from his place behind a stack of crates, ready for a brawl.

Jack and David heard a gasp, then Spot's voice asking someone, "What're ya doin' here?"

"Geez, ya scared me!" Jack tensed at the sound of Bookie's voice. "I'm sorry, Spot. I didn't think anyone would be here."

Jack stepped out of his hiding place behind Bookie and closed his hands on the girl's arms. "Bookie, I-" Her heel came up to meet his crotch and he let go of her and doubled up in pain. She spun, eyes wide with terror, to face him.

Jaw dropped, Bookie stammered, "Oh my god, Jack... I-I didn't see- I didn't know that..."

Her eyes welled with tears and she ran from teh warehouse, Jack calling after her, "Bookie, wait!"

The top of Spot's cane came down hard on Jack's head. "Nevah do dat again, ya heah me?"

Jack straightened, grimacing at the throbbing pain in his head that was quickly overcoming the injury Bookie had done him. "What the hell did I do?!"

"She don't like ta be touched." Spot glowered at Jack darkly. "Don't surprise her, don't touch her arms, and nevah grab her." He strode to the open doorway Bookie has disappeared though and posed dramatically.

"Stay away from Bookie Conlan."

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(Author's Note: This is awesome! I got a newsies hat today, and I loves it! ,  
Shout outs:  
This chapter goes out to Ari. She finally updated LitM, which inspired me to update I-SF in turn. ,)


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